


The Last Half an Hour

by Tarlan



Series: Half An Hour [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-30
Updated: 2005-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disaster strikes...AGAIN...and Elizabeth is due back in half an hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Half an Hour

John had a black eye. He was not certain exactly how that happened and assumed he must have gained it when he fell unconscious in the Commissary. As John settled back on the bed in the infirmary, he cast a sideways glance as the door opened, admitting the haystack from the archeology department.

"Dr. Nilsson"

"I've come to apologize on behalf of my people, Major."

"Oh?"

"It's just...we'd been promised a chance to look at the hieroglyphics on the control crystals since we arrived in the Pegasus galaxy and...I'm afraid we got a little overexcited when the opportunity finally came."

"And the tussle?"

Nilsson had the grace to look both annoyed and repentant. "A few of my team let petty rivalry govern their actions. Seeing the crystal damaged was more than enough of a punishment. They are very distraught at having destroyed something so beautiful and so valuable. Admittedly, it was totally unexpected as the crystal should not have fractured quite so easily. It will never happen again."

John gave a wry smile, recognizing the man's sincerity. "If you have a word with Rodney, maybe...and I mean maybe, he'll let you take a look at those crystals...one at a time."

 _Speak of the devil_ , John thought as Rodney made a sudden appearance, carrying what looked suspiciously like the crystal in question. He dropped it in John's lap.

"Seems this mini-disaster had an up-side. The crystal had a hairline fracture most likely caused during manufacture. Sustaining the shield for a century of wraith attacks, and then for ten thousand years underwater reduced the cohesive forces to the point where it had become brittle, requiring only minimal pressure to break along the fracture line." He smiled crookedly. "This might even be the root cause of some the glitches we've encountered with the city systems."

Rodney narrowed his eyes, looking thoughtfully at Dr. Nilsson.

"Grodin's going to assess all the crystals, one by one, to ensure none of the others are faulty but I'm certain he could accommodate your team at the same time."

"YES! I will contact Dr. Grodin immediately."

Nilsson rushed away leaving John with Rodney; he raised an eyebrow. "That was very charitable of you, Rodney."

"Never let it be said that I am not supportive to the voodoo scientists on this expedition. Besides, Daniel Jackson is an archaeologist, and I like him. He taught me Ancient."

"He did, did he?"

"There was not much else to do in the middle of the Antarctic. Could hardly pop out to see the latest blockbuster or go for a stroll after dinner."

"Point taken." John frowned. "What about Kavanagh?"

Rodney dropped into a seat beside John's bed, and sighed. "I may not like the man--"

"I'd never have guessed."

Rodney glared and carried on regardless, "--but he is actually very good at what he does."

"He is?"

"Yes, and if you ever tell him I said that, I'll deny it categorically. Kavanagh's problem is that he has a tendency to think that because he can do one aspect of his work exceedingly well, it means he can do _everything_ exceedingly well."

"Like someone else I know."

"I don't _think_ I can, I _know_ I can."

John suppressed a smile at the disgruntled look but could not deny that Rodney did seem to move from one science discipline to another with amazing ability.

"If Kavanagh would stick to his area of expertise then we'd all sleep easier in our beds at night...literally."

"And that area is?"

"Environmental systems. He found and fixed the fault with the ventilation system in the Commissary within fifteen minutes."

John nodded. When Atlantis shut down, the damaged ventilation system had failed completely, swiftly replacing the oxygen with carbon monoxide. It happened so fast that all John could recall was a sensation of falling in the darkness followed by the shock of his head meeting the floor before the darkness filled his mind too. Fortunately, enough oxygen had remained to keep him and Simpson alive until Rodney and Carson arrived.

He glanced across to the other bed where Simpson had started to recover and sighed in relief. Apart from a few cuts and bruises from people stumbling into hard objects or tripping in the dark, everyone had come through extremely well. However, it had highlighted how vulnerable they were should the Atlantis systems fail and John determined that all laboratories and the important areas such as the infirmary, Commissary and main corridors should have back-up light.

Rodney seemed to be reading his thoughts.

"Zelenka can jury rig a back up generator separate from the main control systems to power emergency lights. A single Naquadah generator ought to be sufficient to maintain power for several days if light levels are kept to the bare minimum."

"Do it." John frowned as Rodney leaned forward, noticing the marks on his arm that looked suspiciously like finger point bruises. "What happened to your arm?"

"Damsel in distress. That Wraith bug's grip on your neck had nothing on her grip on my arm. Thought she would have to be surgically removed."

"Not a dumb blond with cropped hair then?"

"What?" Rodney looked taken aback. "Where did you..? Oh. Lieutenant Ford was based at the SGC." He flushed slightly in embarrassment.

John grinned. He had never met Colonel Carter but got the impression that she was a female version of Rodney, though without the snark and obnoxious personality. Calling her a dumb blond had resulted in a new posting for Rodney--Siberia. Secretly, he wondered who Rodney had pissed off to get sent to Antarctica but then realized it was probably the other way around, with Rodney getting the plum assignment as far as the astrophysicist was concerned.

Certainly, he was glad Rodney was here, faults and all, because that massive ego was almost warranted. _Almost_. A yawn overtook him suddenly and Rodney stood up.

"You're tired. I'll leave you to rest, Major." He smiled softly and headed for the door only to turn when John called his name.

"Thanks," John stated sincerely, gaining a bigger smile in response.

"Nice shiner, by the way." Then Rodney was gone.

**--**

The next forty hours past without incident. After months of intense activity, everyone was more than ready for a little down time and several impromptu parties sprung up in the most unlikely places; the labs, the gym, and even the North East pier. Of course, John made sure he was invited to each one, wanting to take full advantage of any sympathy he gained from his recent injury, even though the eye was more a mottled green rather than blue-black now. He had always healed fast, and Carson mentioned that it might be because of the ATA gene. The Ancients were known to have healing powers which he supposed they might use on themselves. Certainly, having fast healing properties had stood him in good stead over the years.

With only eight hours to go until Elizabeth returned from the mainland, this would be the last of the parties, giving everyone the chance to sober up before she regained control of the city. It was not that they considered her a party pooper...well, actually, they did because she frowned on _TOO_ parties; too loud, too drunk and too out of control. Her idea of a party was the sedate buffet thrown for the Athosians on that first day on Atlantis. Quiet music playing in the background, the murmur of voices in companionable debate, with everyone dressed smart but casual.

She would have died on the spot if she had walked into the Commissary right now.

Suspiciously, John eyed the specimen cup that Simpson had thrust into his hand before taking a cautious sip. One sharp intake of breath later, followed by several pounds on the back got him breathing again. His voice came out a hoarse whisper.

"What is this?"

"The best moonshine in the Pegasus galaxy...courtesy of Doctor Z," she stated with an insane, drunken grin.

John nodded, realizing the Czech would have had something to do with it and, as potent as it was, it tasted a lot better than the Athosian equivalent. Less bitter. He took another sip and, knowing what to expect this time, the mouthful went down a lot smoother.

Someone from the physics department had engineered the lights to flash with the music; red and blue and white flashes like a high-speed police car chase at night. Thankfully, there were no epileptics in the expedition or they'd be in real trouble right about now. The music in question was...questionable but, hey, he'd always wanted to go to a rave party. Even stranger though, was the fact that he actually recognized the current song blaring out at eardrum bursting level as Fat Boy Slim. John's eyes bulged out of his head when he saw one of the female chemists clambering onto a table in the Commissary, dressed in a white lab coat, like the one Rodney wore when he was playing scientist, except Rodney did not have legs that good, or that long and naked. Writhing in time to the music, she began to tease open the buttons, providing everyone with an impromptu strip tease that held many of the men transfixed.

A finger under his chin made his teeth snap together, and he tore his eyes away to find Rodney standing beside him, except Rodney's full attention was on the now scantily-clad chemist. Rodney leaned into him and John copied, knowing Rodney had something to say.

"Marleson!" He shouted, to be heard above the throbbing beat. "Exhibitionist...did this at the _going to Atlantis_ party back in Antarctica."

"There was a going away party and I wasn't invited?" He shouted back.

"What?"

"I said...never mind." John waved his hand and some of Doctor Z's moonshine spilled over his fingers. He licked them, enjoying the burning numbness on his lips.

"Oh my!"

John glanced across at Rodney, noticed that he was still transfixed on Marleson and turned his eyes to... "Damn!" Firm breasts were bouncing naked and free with the music. "She did _that_ at the party?"

"What?"

John gestured towards Marleson but Rodney was, surprisingly, looking elsewhere, with his eyes wide in shock. A glance in that direction made John's lips curl' into a massive grin. Several other ladies were disrobing, along with several of the guys, their t-shirts yanked off and thrown into the air to land on the ground to be trampled under the dancing feet. Arms waved and bodies gyrated all around John and Rodney, and John began to giggle, feeling equally hot and reckless. He took another big swallow of moonshine, feeling his head start to reel as a pleasant buzz set up inside him, heating him as the rhythm of the music sank to the core of his soul. He grinned harder as Rodney gulped down a glass of Dr. Z's, his blue eyes glinting with tears sparkling in the flashing lights as the moonshine took him by surprise. Both of their glasses were refilled, though John had no idea who had done it because of the increased press of bodies all around him. Hard bodies; hard, gyrating bodies; hard, half-naked, gyrating bodies.

It was hot...too hot, and he thrust his glass into Rodney's hand, gripping the hem of his black t-shirt and yanking it over his head. He threw it into the mass of bodies, sniggering uncontrollably as he saw it fly back into the air several times more before disappearing altogether. When he turned back to reclaim his drink, Rodney's second glass was empty and Rodney was sporting the silliest grin, with his face all flushed and eyes still sparkling. He needed no encouragement from John to pull off his own shirt...and that was the last John recalled seeing of Rodney until...

"Ohhhhhh."

Someone was groaning.

"Ohhhhhhhh."

John opened his eyes and realized that it was him. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton wool, bone dry, tongue thick and heavy, lips numb. He could barely hold his eyelids open, and then there was that groan again that came from somewhere deep inside him. He tried to raise his head as he heard a familiar Scot's accent and failed miserably.

"Bloody hell!" The accent was thick with worry.

Where the hell was he? And why did he feel like he was suffering the effects of a Wraith stunner? Had the Wraith attacked? And what was he lying on?

He tried to focus and realized his head was pillowed on someone's naked lower abdomen. Strike that, he thought. Not some one's, some man's, for his eyes were staring right into some man's exposed crotch. That's when he realized he could feel a draft on his bare ass.

"Oh God!" he moaned, his eyes moving up as a shadow descended in front of him.

"Major Sheppard?"

"Oh God!" he croaked again.

"Are you all right, man?"

"Sir?"

"Oh God!" he moaned harder when Bates' face swam into focus.

Carson helped him to a seated position and, no sooner had his head stopped spinning, than he noticed the bodies sprawled around him. One naked lady was draped over his legs, which at least explained why he had felt paralyzed, and his head had been...... "Rodney?"

"Aye, Major. He's still out cold."

"What the hell happened?" He frowned because the words in his head sounded nothing like the ones that fell from his mouth, and yet Carson seemed to understand them.

"I think the drink was spiked. I've sent some away for analysis."

"Spiked?"

John frowned again because, although he was thinking that word, he couldn't recall actually saying it.

"Rodney! Welcome back to the land of the living." Carson's words answered his question of who had spoken. He turned away. "Okay. Let's get these two to the infirmary first."

John grabbed at the blanket wrapped around him and tried to smile in gratitude, holding it secure as Carson and Bates pulled him to his feet, half carried him across the prone bodies and set him down onto a gurney. Through slitted eyes, he watched as Rodney was assisted up also. Their eyes locked for a second and John wondered if his own were just as bloodshot.

"What's the time?" He slurred.

"Christ!" Carson looked frantic. "I've got half an hour to sober up the bloody lot of you before Elizabeth gets back."

As they were wheeled out of the Commissary, John could see people picking their way through the bodies-- people who had not attended the party, which was mostly his military. They were disentangling limbs, covering people's dignity with whatever items of clothing they could find, and even slinging them over their shoulders and carrying them off to lay them down at the side of the room in the well known recovery position. The scene disappeared, replaced by corridor walls rushing past.

"Beckett!" he croaked suddenly, feeling the bile rise from the rolling sensation and the movement. The gurney screeched to a halt and a bowl was shoved in front of his face as Carson levered him up. When he finally sank back he felt only slightly less dreadful, though the sound of Rodney retching almost undid him again.

The awful movement began again in earnest and John was so relieved when the familiar innards of the infirmary came into focus.

"Twenty-five minutes!"

This had to be a dream...a very bad dream.

**--**

"Just let me die!" Rodney pleaded as another bout of sickness overtook him. He had not felt this bad since that case of gastro-enteritis in Siberia.

"Sorry, Rodney, but I've got only twenty minutes to sober you up before Elizabeth gets back. Least I know what the drink was spiked with so I can counteract the worst effects," he mumbled on but Rodney heard only the one word. "And I can see the advantages of something that lowers inhibitions and makes the victim pliant to suggestion. Must have been one bloody great party."

"Elizabeth?" he croaked. Carson stopped his monologue.

"Brunette, female, formidable leader of the expedition."

"Yes, I know who--" Rodney groaned and fell back to a prone position, wishing he had not tried to get up. "Twenty minutes?"

An echo came from the next bed. "Twenty minutes? She's not due back for...hours."

"Only in your dreams. She's on route as we speak, and Miller can only delay her so far."

"She's back early?" Rodney groaned.

"No. She's right on time! Bates and I have spent the last four hours trying to get into the Commissary! Some bloody idiot sealed the doors and the only ones with the gene strong enough, or otherwise resourceful enough, to break through the lockdown were at the bloody party!"

"Oh God! What idiot would have--?"

"Och, I don't know," Carson replied sarcastically, "Maybe someone with the worst case of bed head I've seen in many a year, and considering the competition here on Atlantis, that's saying something."

"I issued a lock-down?" asked John in a horror-filled voice.

"No, I'm talking about the genius here...Rodney!"

"Oh God!" Rodney moaned as his hand went to his head, finding his hair standing up in all directions. Half forgotten blurry memories came floating back, of him and John sniggering like school kids while Rodney set the lock-down and jimmied the door and transporter so neither would function. He turned accusing eyes on John. "It was your idea!"

"All I can say is...if he can do the same when the Wraith arrive then we'll have no problems keeping them out of the city."

Rodney's senses began spinning alarmingly when, without warning, Carson rolled him onto his side. "OW!" he yelled, glaring at Carson as he withdrew the wicked hypodermic needle he had just plunged into Rodney's rear.

"That should settle your stomach...hopefully." Carson turned towards an approaching nurse and accepted one of the glasses she was carrying. Whatever was in it looked absolutely disgusting, and smelled just as bad. Rodney gritted his teeth as he was dragged into a sitting position, the glass thrust into his hand. "Just hold your nose and down it in one."

"I'm not drinking that...that..."

Carson leaned right into Rodney's face. "Not only are you going to bloody drink it, but you're going to say _thank you, Carson_ , afterwards and then get into the bloody shower. You have fifteen minutes till she gets here." He leaned back, arms folded over his chest. "So what's it going to be, Rodney? My da's hangover cure or explaining to Elizabeth why you and most of the hard sciences people are completely shitfaced."

Rodney reached out and took the glass. One whiff of the stuff made him stomach turn but, grimly, he pinched his nose and placed the glass to his lips...then pushed it away. "Can't do it."

"DO IT!"

Intimidated, he put it against his lips again, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and swallowed. Looking and smelling disgusting was not enough. The stuff tasted disgusting too, and for a moment, Rodney thought he would have the dubious pleasure of tasting it again as it came back up but, thankfully, it stayed down.

"Shower." Carson pointed in the direction of the infirmary shower. As Rodney shuffled away, murmuring about overzealous doctors while holding his cover about his naked body like a security blanket, he heard Carson speak again. "Your turn now, Major."

**--**

Carson looked from Rodney to John Sheppard, eyeing them critically and knowing they did not pass muster. Elizabeth was going to kill them. All of them. Even without the remnants of the black eye, John looked like death warmed over, and Rodney...Rodney had a gray complexion that would have been interesting to study at any other time.

"So, what's the cover story?" asked John.

"Oh, you mean for the eighty-six scientists and soldiers still lying in drunken, naked heaps in the Commissary?" He turned slightly. "Maybe Rodney the Genius can come up with something at short notice. You've got three minutes."

"The ventilation in the Commissary," John looked as eager as he could while looking like something the dog dragged through a hedge backwards and then rejected in disdain. "The Commissary is off limits until....until Kavanagh can fix it."

"And all the scientists and missing military?"

Rodney clicked his fingers, and then grimaced at the loud noise it made. "Day off...in their quarters resting."

"Oh, and how are we supposed to sneak them all back to their quarters once Elizabeth is prowling the halls outside the Commissary, wanting to see what the problem is?"

"Food poisoning." Rodney looked at Carson all wild-eyed. "A...sedate...dinner party for the science department goes horribly wrong with botulism in the... You set up triage in the Commissary as there were too many to transport to the infirmary." He frowned. "No. She'll want to go a check on everyone and see...see heaps of naked... Oh God! We're dead."

"Aye, maybe, or maybe not. We'll stick with the food poisoning." Carson waved an accusatory finger between the pair of them. "Keep her occupied and I'll see what I can do with the bodies."

**--**

As the Puddlejumper eased gracefully through the ceiling opening, John elbowed Rodney sharply, forcing him to stand upright instead of leaning precariously on him. The Puddlejumper landed with a gentle bump and John winced as the rear hatch opened, a dull clang filling the bay as it made contact with the ground, reverberating through his skull.

"Elizabeth... Teyla," John tried his most charming and disarming smile but a raised eyebrow from Elizabeth and the sideways cock of Teyla's head told him he had probably grimaced instead. "How was your trip to the mainland? Everything okay? Halling and Jinto okay?"

"Halling and Jinto are fine. As are all the Athosians." Teyla tilted her head respectfully but John could see the glint of suspicion in her dark eyes.

"Has everything been all right while I was gone?"

John could see Elizabeth studying his face, knowing she was focusing on his bruised eye. "Training accident," he added quickly, and saw her nod.

"So, no problems. Everything's--"

"Perfect. Everybody is fully rested and ready to jump back into the...erhh...whatever," John added his winning smile to the end of the sentence but Elizabeth was not looking. Instead she had focused her attention on Rodney who had grown paler by the second.

"Are you feeling all right, Rodney?"

"You look a little unwell."

Rodney straightened. "I assure you, I'm fine, Elizabeth. Just a mild touch of food poisoning but if you don't mind--" He rushed off, hand over his mouth but the sound of retching close by proved he did not get far. John winced as both sets of eyes turned to John in concern.

"There was a...tiny incident," he emphasized with his thumb and forefinger, "But it's under control."

The sound of more retching broke any hope of her being persuaded that it _was_ just a tiny incident. He crossed the fingers of the hand hidden behind his back and hoped that whatever plan Carson had cooked up was fully operational because the glint in Elizabeth's eyes told him his delaying tactics had failed miserably. She was on her way to the control room where the main control panel still lay in pieces while Grodin checked each individual crystal; an obvious, large bandage wrapped around his damaged hand from the gash he gained in the first half an hour of Elizabeth's absence. Secretly, John hoped Grodin would keep Elizabeth occupied for vital extra minutes--as long as he didn't go into too much detail regarding that first half an hour.

John followed her, almost walking into her when she stopped on finding Rodney on his knees throwing up into the ornamental plant that had replaced the ten thousand year old dead plant that had once resided there. Her nose wrinkled up.

"I'll...get someone to clean that up." He tapped on his ear radio and put in a call to the Environment department, silently hoping everyone was sick so Kavanagh would draw the short straw. The man had been suspiciously absent from last night's party. John grabbed Rodney under the armpits and hauled him to his feet, whispering savagely in his ear. "You're not leaving me to deal with this alone."

"Perhaps Dr. McKay should return to his room to rest?"

"No," John drawled. "Rodney's fine. Aren't you, Rodney?"

"Perfectly," he stated while surreptitiously wiping his mouth on his sleeve but at least he no longer looked so wraithlike, having regained a little color after his latest bout of sickness.

"Exactly how many people have a touch of food poisoning?"

"A few--"

"Eighty-six--"

John stared daggers at Rodney for revealing the exact number.

"Eighty-six!"

She stormed through the control room, barely giving Grodin a look but stopped abruptly, eyes sweeping through the room, finishing up on Rodney and John, who gave a noncommittal shrug of _nothing to do with me, ask Rodney_."

"Archeologists," Rodney stated as her attention came back to him, as if the single word explained everything.

"Oh," Elizabeth responded with an understanding nod of her head, and carried on walking. "Where's Dr. Beckett," she threw over her shoulder and Grodin answered nervously.

"I believe he's in the Commissary."

 _Traitor_ , mouthed Rodney as Elizabeth headed for the transporter with Teyla a step behind.

**--**

"Eighty-six people with food poisoning and you didn't think to contact me?"

Elizabeth's accusatory stare bore into John, and Rodney felt momentary relief that she had targeted all her anger at John even if it was not completely justified. After all, he and John had only come round half an hour ago so neither of them had been in a position to tell her anything. Admittedly, John did not look that ill after taking Carson's hangover cure, and as he was supposed to have been in charge of Atlantis in her absence, the buck had to stop somewhere but, boy was Rodney glad it was stopping at the Major. She turned a worried eye in Rodney's direction as he sidled into the transporter with her. Not that he had a lot of choice as John had taken a very tight grip around his arm and pulled him in when he tried to make a break for it. At least Elizabeth seemed to have accepted his sickness as a valid excuse for his inability to explain what had happened in her absence. As long as she did not figure out the truth then he might even be in the clear.

Within the confines of the transporter, both Elizabeth and Teyla kept well back from him, and then stepped even further back when John went an interesting shade of pale green as they were transported to the Commissary. Rodney held his breath as doors slid open to reveal...

"Oh thank God!" Rodney breathed softly, only to notice Teyla watching him. _Did I say that out loud?_ He thought, swallowing hard.

They stepped out into a room that looked as if it had been set up as a field hospital from a M*A*S*H re-run, with the patients lying in neat rows, covered in military issued blankets. Most were groaning, alternating between holding their heads and their stomachs. Several were being assisted by medical personnel and Rodney could only offer heartfelt thanks that Kavanagh had repaired the ventilation system to take the smell from the air. Still, he could see Elizabeth struggling with her gag reflex as she strode over to where Carson was encouraging one young woman to lay back and rest.

"Carson?"

"Elizabeth!" He glanced around the strangely orderly scene of devastation. "We've tracked the culprit down to something in the drink."

"Drink?"

"Oh, it did not take more than a few mouthfuls to get this into their system." Carson turned to eye Rodney speculatively. "Rodney? You still look a wee bit off color." His attention moved over. "And you're not looking so grand either, Major. Perhaps the two of you should _strip off_ and join the others?" He motioned towards two empty mattresses on the floor close by, an evil glint in his eye.

"I think I can manage to rest in my quarters," John responded tightly.

"No, I don't think so, Major. Until this has run through your system, it would be best if you stayed with all the others so my medical team can keep an eye on you."

"Rodney could--"

"Is he still vomiting?"

"No, I feel--"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth and Teyla together.

"Then I cannot risk the pair of you alone without medical supervision, and I cannot afford to spare the staff right now, so..." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them briskly. "Off with the clothes and hop into bed with you both."

Rodney turned to John, seeing a reflection of his horror in John's eyes, knowing they had to bow to Carson's evil command or face him revealing the truth to Elizabeth.

"Oh. Pperhaps you're feeling a little embarrassed at _stripping off in front of everyone_ ," he stressed.

Rodney knew he had turned a bright shade of red. He could feel the heat in his cheeks...or rather; he could feel _increased_ heat in his cheeks as he was already feeling quite hot. The room seemed increasingly stuffy and he felt himself breaking out in a sweat. Then the room tilted alarmingly and he had the terrifying thought that Atlantis was sinking like the Titanic. Hands grabbed at him as his knees buckled, and the floor still came up to meet him but at a far more leisurely pace than the last time he passed out. He blinked several times. He was on his back, staring up at the Commissary ceiling with the oddest sensation of having been in this same position before, except there was no heavy weight on his stomach this time. Rodney grumbled and tried to swat away the hands that pulled at his clothing but he really did not have the energy to do more than that.

"Now, now, Rodney. No point in fighting the inevitable."

He could hear muttered complaints coming from beside him and turned his head to see John stripping down to his underwear without assistance. Frowning, Rodney had to wonder why John was not feeling quite as sick as him. If anything, the Major ought to have been worse off as he had been at least one glass ahead of him when he reached the party. It was a conspiracy. It had to be.

"Just close your eyes and rest."

Strangely, that seemed to be a great idea. "Okay," he mumbled, and everything faded away.

**--**

John watched through heavily lidded eyes as Carson called out medical phrases that had people come running with equipment in hand. He winced as he saw the IV needle inserted into Rodney's flesh, the line leading up to a transparent liquid in a bag suspended above Rodney's prone body.

"Is he going to be all right?" John asked and saw Carson's bright blue eyes look down into his.

"Aye, just a low blood sugar count and a wee bit of dehydration. Be right as rain soon enough."

"Okay." John closed his eyes, relief washing through him at shutting out some of the external stimuli from his brain. Despite Carson's disgusting hangover remedy, this really was the worst hangover he could ever recall having.

He opened his eyes on feeling a gentle touch on his arm to find Elizabeth hovering over him.

"Under the circumstances, I believe an apology is warranted."

"Oh...okay," he mumbled, unsure what he should be apologizing for but, at this moment, he'd apologize for anything he'd done in his life. Hell, he'd apologize for being born. He opened his mouth to say the words but was preempted.

"I'm sorry," stated Elizabeth. "I'm certain you would have contacted me at the earliest opportunity had you been well enough."

Now he was even more confused but John decided to let it go. He had more important things to think about, like his head that was threatening to fall off his shoulders and this incredible desire to simply close his eyes.

When he next became aware of the world around him, he could hear soft snores from close by. John rolled his head to the side and stared at Rodney's slack, sleeping features. He looked a far better color and John noticed that the liquid in the IV bag was almost depleted. The blanket had slipped, revealing that Rodney was dressed in one of the red medical gowns that Carson favored in his infirmary--so he could tell the patients from the doctors, no doubt. A glance down revealed that he was similarly attired and a look around showed a quiet Commissary still filled with prone party goers. Medical personnel moved between them quietly, adjusting bed clothes and checking the IVs on others who had needed a little more than simply sleeping off the effects of the spiked drink.

A figure knelt down beside him and he looked up into Carson's gentle eyes.

"Welcome back, Major."

"Have I been somewhere?"

Carson's eyes twinkled with laughter. "Only in your dreams."

"How's Rodney?"

"He's doing fine. I never should have let him out of the infirmary. He was a very sick lad."

"Yeah. Did anyone clean up the mess he made outside the hangar bay?"

"I don't know...but I'll check on that." Carson's expression became serious. "I did not tell Elizabeth the whole story. Went with the sedate party and spiked alcohol though something of this magnitude is more serious than a wee bit of fun. Anyway, I figured she did not need to know that half of Atlantis was letting down its hair at the time...and pants." He added with a snigger.

"Talking of which..."

"Bates got a few of his men to pick up all the clothing. They're sorting through the pile trying to figure out who owns what. Easy enough with the military as everything seems to be labeled. Not so easy with the science lot, though most used common sense and labeled up clothing so it would not get mixed up in the laundry."

He paused.

"I think your boys don't get out enough, Major. They seemed pretty eager with the task. Though Stackhouse parading around with a large cup bra over his chest asking if anyone recognized it was worth a laugh or two. Grodin managed to fix the lights before the rest of us had a fit from the flashing red, white and blue...very patriotic for the Yanks and Brits."

"Thanks, doc. I owe you one."

"Oh, no son, you owe me more than one. Now, if you don't mind, I have a lot of other patients to check on."

He started to rise but John called him back. "You figure out who spiked the drink?"

"Not yet...but Kavanagh figured out why everyone started stripping. Someone had tampered with the heating controls. Not by much but then, with all those people in an enclosed space generating heat, it did not take much of a temperature rise to get people overheating. Once one person started to strip, the auto-suggestive properties of the drug took over and influenced the rest."

"Anything else I should know because I _really_ don't remember a thing?"

"Sorry, Major. Cannot help you there. I was not invited to the party...thank God!" He added as an afterthought.

**--**

Over the course of the next few hours, Carson let those least affected escape to their quarters to shower and sleep off the rest of their hangover. They formed the majority of his patients, which brought welcome relief to Carson's staff. He had wondered how they would cope in a large scale emergency, having run simulations and rehearsals on a semi-regular basis. The results today were more than encouraging. His staff had done a sterling job, performing with a professionalism that was admirable considering that everyone knew most everyone on the expedition by now, making it that much harder to remain detached and focused. He sank down onto a chair and stared across the Commissary at the few remaining patients. Of the eighty-six, only nine remained, and two of those could be released as soon as they woke up.

Major Sheppard had disappeared over an hour ago, as soon as Carson gave him the okay. He returned half an hour later, fully dressed and freshly showered to check on the situation though Carson was not fooled for an instant. Strange friendships had developed on this expedition, and one of the strangest was a laid back US Air Force Major and an uptight, obnoxious but brilliant astrophysicist.

Carson smiled down at Rodney, who was still fast asleep, thinking about his own strange friendship with the obnoxious scientist.

He stretched, feeling the twang of abused muscles. All the bending and kneeling was killing his back and neck, and he could see many of his staff rubbing sore backs too. Touching his ear radio, Carson contacted Bates.

"Let's transport those left to the infirmary, so the rest of us can get a hot meal."

**--**

 **The next morning:**

Rodney slumped into a seat in the Commissary opposite John, looking and feeling very much the worse for wear. He noticed John was nursing what passed for coffee but Rodney decided against getting his own. His stomach was still feeling a little too delicate. Carson had kept him in the infirmary overnight, only releasing him an hour earlier having made him promise to get something decent to eat. Normally, Rodney would have no problem keeping such a promise but, for the first time since that bout of illness in Siberia, he really could not face even the thought of food.

Carson sank into the seat next to him and slid a plate across. "Dry Athosian bread...toasted."

"Yum," Rodney replied sarcastically but felt compelled to at least pick at the toasted bread.

The Commissary was eerily quiet with glum looking people huddled in tiny groups picking at their food as if someone had served them rotten, raw meat. Rodney's eyes dropped to John's plate, both amazed and appalled by the mountain of food set upon it and wondering, first, how he could even face food right now and secondly, where he managed to pack it all into his lean frame and not shown a spare ounce of flesh. Worse still, John was the one who was always accusing _him_ of overeating.

He saw John's eyes flicker towards the door and give a small nod in greeting to whoever had entered. Rodney caught sight of Elizabeth as she headed for her favorite table over the back, a cup of pseudo-coffee in hand. She settled with her profile to the room, neither inviting company nor rejecting it, though most people tended to leave her alone here.

Rodney picked up a piece of dry toast and took a small bite, chewing slowly but he stopped mid-chew when Elizabeth straightened, her back tensing, eyes narrowing and peering as she leaned forward. She stood up, hand reaching out and slowly drawing back a rumpled item of clothing from the branches of the ornamental shrub. It unfolded in her hands, revealing the words written across it but Rodney knew exactly what it said. Her head swiveled in his direction in a frightening _Linda Blair in the Exorcist_ motion.

John turned in his seat, checking over his shoulder, his frown turning to alarm as she turned the t-shirt around to reveal the words, _I'm with Genius_. Her eyes were narrowed in suspicion and she tilted her head questioningly.

Rodney groaned, "I'm a dead man."

Beside him, Carson shook his head. "No Rodney, if you think that's bad, just wait till she sees the surveillance video."

"Video," he squeaked.

THE END


End file.
